


Awaiting Peace

by MaskofCognito



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Art, Balthazar owns a bistro, Creature Fic, Destiel - Freeform, Food is retro, Future Fic, Hippie Castiel, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Science Fiction, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suspense, alternative universe, space travel, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2018-12-18 13:26:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11875446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskofCognito/pseuds/MaskofCognito
Summary: Traveling across light years to inhabit and terraform an undeveloped world is a dream of many aboard the Forfax. But the excited faces and adrenaline coursing through their bodies are short lived. The trek will take just over ten years if everything stays par for the course—and as we all know, that’s just not how life works.When the station is under threat of being devoured, a new gang of friends has to team up and find a solution before they run out of time. Bonds are formed, confidence is found, and skills are tested to their limits.WIP:Irregularly updated, but never abandoned. Life gets in the way a lot, but this fic is my baby.Update:Currently going back through to edit the older chapters and reread them. Planning out next few chapters and will hopefully start releasing them no later than October.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would never have posted this if it wasn't for the help [OsirisApollo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OsirisApollo). She's been a cheerleader throughout this entire process for me. Go check out her works because she's written a hell of a lot more than I have and is an amazing writer.
> 
> This fic is likely to be a long one (or at least from what I'm projecting on myself). I'm going to be posting short chapters because it's about all I can motivate myself to deal with at one time. I love beta-ing and editing Osiris's fics, but I become a deer in the headlights when it comes time to do the same to mine. So more encouragement would be helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by [Vinnie-Cha](http://vinnie-cha.tumblr.com/) from Tumblr as a Christmas present from the wonderful [OsirisApollo](http://archiveofourown.com/users/OsirisApollo)!

 

People often referred to Castiel as a vintage hippy. So what if his shaggy hair could use a trim and maybe some control? So what if people thought he needed to shave more often? He happened to like his scruff just fine, thank you. He wore a style of clothes that were from the late twentieth and early twenty-first century. No matter what _other people_ might say, he’d never give in.

“I just wish you would _try_ a new outfit. Something different. It would really shock the people where you work.” Gabriel complained from the couch.

“I told you, I don’t care what other people think. This is how I live and how I feel comfortable. If other people don’t get that, they can go sulk in a corner. I don’t care.” Castiel huffed in frustration while he moved around in the kitchen.

It was an addition that Castiel had insisted upon—when they chose which living plan they were going to purchase—before they’d boarded the newly built space station, Forfax.

Gabriel mumbled something under his breath that sounded oddly like, _‘ Of course you don’t.’_

“Would you like some dinner?” Castiel was making a small portion of what was once commonly known as spaghetti and garlic bread. He was reading the instructions from a vintage Earth cookbook. Though food was now altogether unnecessary, Castiel made a point to eat solid food at least once a day.

Before humans left Earth on the first expeditions to new worlds, their scientists had created a water-soluble meal replacement. Bulky, temperature-sensitive food became a thing of the past. Deep space travel was freed of the cost, storage restrictions, weight accommodations, and power required to maintain food stores for rapidly expanding crews. They’d packed small powder packets along with the recommended amount of water. Ever since, space life had changed for the rest of the intelligent lifeforms. Food was no longer essential, and star-bound explorers no longer had catastrophic wars over famine. Albeit, it took some getting used to at first.

It also helped kill human’s addiction to food, which had become very unhealthy.

“Yeah, whatever. If you’re going to make it anyways, it’s not like food doesn’t taste good. But it’s still good-riddance if you ask me.”

“Nobody asked you, troll. And if you are going to eat it, why are you putting it down?”

The only response was shrugged shoulders, as far as Castiel could see beyond the couch.

 

Castiel had always woken up earlier than Gabriel. He had always retired earlier than his insufferable insomniac of a brother, as well. One would think, with all this fancy technology, scientists would have a cure for insomnia by now. And one would be right—they _did_. Gabriel was just a stubborn goat who wanted to complain about the lack of sleep rather than do anything about it.

Castiel readied himself for the day, and he headed out of their living pod, making his way to the sector transports. When the small door opened, he stepped inside. The lift moved to the far center of the ship and then elevated through the different ringed sectors, taking Castiel to the commerce level.

He made his way to his favorite shop, eyeing the unlit sign labeled _Roots_.

Castiel swiped his arm over the access panel, and the screen displayed an ‘ _Access Granted_ ’ message. The door to the bistro slid open and allowed him to pass through, shutting after he’d cleared.

“Good Morning, Castiel.” A voice—soft, warm, and feminine—emanated from all around him at once.

“Hello, Valerie,” Castiel answered. “Could you do me a favor and clean the windows while Balthazar opens up this morning?”

“I will start the process immediately.”

“Thank you, Valerie.” The sound of running water filled the otherwise quiet space, and Castiel looked back at the glass. Partitions, just beyond the window panes, prevented Castiel from watching passersby outside the shop. Until the bistro was opened for the day, and the panels slid out of view, it felt as though he was all alone; the rest of the space station was blocked out.

A thin, grateless, linear drain on either side of the glass caught the water at the floor as it fell and recollected into the ship’s water purification system. After he watched the robotic arm reach down to scrub the glass of oily fingerprints, Castiel turned back to focus on hunting down his friend.

There was always much to do at the bistro in the morning. Castiel moved toward the kitchen and witnessed Balthazar—in the cupcake apron Castiel had gotten him as a gift—flitting from oven to proofer. The man flicked the power switches of the beasty machinery, bringing them to life. As Balthazar retrieved the bread dough from the refrigerator, the frosty air swept over Castiel, sending shivers down his arms.

“Good morning, Balthazar.”

“Morning, Cassie!” The man greeted as he spun around to upbeat jazz tunes. He placed the dough on the prep table to be worked.

The sounds of a full band filled the air, and Castiel tapped his foot and swayed his head while he waited. He was content watching Balthazar work through his morning routine, prepping the dough for bread and scones.

“Could you be a dear and start grinding some coffee beans? I’ll ready your breakfast in a moment after I pop these biscuits in the oven.”

Castiel started hand cranking a nice mix of fragrant coffee beans. He decided to help out further while he waited. He filled the sandwich prep area with the ingredients he knew were stored in compact refrigerators behind the coffee counter. Hands on his hips with a job well done, he surveyed the lobby. The chairs were still up on the tables, and he left the counter to remedy that situation. Once everything was set-up and the last song slowly faded out, Castiel was only waiting on Balthazar.

“Valerie.”

“Yes, Castiel?”

“It’s time to open up shop.”

“Oh, boy! I feel like today is going to be a good day. Don’t you, Castiel?”

Castiel smiled to himself at how the computer liked to hold frivolous conversations, emulating humans as best as it could.

The music changed to a playlist mix of piano pieces, zen style melodies, and Celtic instrumentals. The opaque metal partition, beyond the windows, retreated into the shop’s awning, and the access panels in front of the door slid away to reveal to the station’s occupants walking past.

Roots was open for business.

Two small panels in the floor—beyond the door—opened, and the _‘Today’s Special’_ sign and a standing menu rose on either side of the entrance. The bistro’s name lit up, in the upper glass pane above the door, and an ‘Open’ sign flickered on. Recessed lights within the lobby eased to life, illuminating the area in a soft glow.

“Yes, Valerie. I believe today will be a _lovely_ day,” Balthazar came out behind Castiel, knocking him to the side with his hip, and carrying his trays high above their heads. “Thank you, Cassie. You did more than I could have asked for.”

“Nonsense. You always give me free food.”

A bark of laughter emerged from Balthazar as he set down the trays full of pastries made the night before. He took extra care arranging them neatly into the display case. “I don’t charge you for new concoctions on purpose, you know. If I poison you accidentally, I don’t want your brother coming after my shop or license.”

Castiel laughed. “You wish that’s all he’d do. He’d get you thrown out of the hatches if he had the chance.”

Balthazar appeared amused, “I dare him to try and throw out this sweet arse. You know he loves to spend as much time with me as you do. Maybe more.” He winked.

Castiel’s face scrunched in distaste, and his hands flew to shield his face. “That was more than I ever wanted to know.”

“Why, Cassie!” Balthazar poked him in his side to get Castiel to drop his hands. “Who says it’s true? Who says it’s false? Maybe it’s just my wish; maybe his. Or perhaps, I’m just playing. Then again, we could’ve been banging since before we met on Forfax.”

“I don’t care what the truth is. I just rather not know about my brother’s sex life, rumored or not. And I don’t much care to know about yours, either.”

“Don’t be a prude. Just because you’ve been celibate forever doesn’t mean everyone shares your desire. Or should I say non-desire?”

Castiel cheeks tinged slightly at the jab. He had never been ashamed of being a virgin, but he didn’t enjoy being teased about it.

Castiel changed the subject. “Can I just get my food to go? If you keep me here any longer, I will miss work.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just give me a minute.”

Balthazar stopped harassing Castiel long enough to produce a new concoction. He’d combined a creme puff with sausage and egg (apparently thinking Castiel was too innocent to notice the symbolism).

Castiel left the bistro, rolling his eyes as he munched on the—surprisingly not horrible—experimental food and sipping his coffee. He was finally on his way to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments, and or kudos, if you enjoyed the chapter! And if at any time you think you know what is going to happen, let me know. I love hearing feedback.


	2. Chapter 2

Balthazar was working his hand-crank coffee grinder, mundanely staring off into nothing. A chime rang softly through the music of the bistro, and his attention snapped to the new customer with a small smile. “Welcome…” _To Roots,_ he willed himself to say. His voice refused to draw past his lips, and his mouth was agape with shock. The almost perfect symmetry of the stranger’s face caught him off guard.

The man seemed to chuckle nervously and rubbed the back of his neck, “I’ve never been to this part of the sector before. I didn’t know there were affordable places that sold food. Or coffee, for that matter.”

_'There isn’t_ ,’ Balthazar thought to himself. He may have owned a reasonably priced bistro that offered authentic food, but that didn’t mean he was making money. Sure, he had a fair number of regulars, but more frequently newer customers were scared off by Balthazar’s insolence and cheek.

“Yeah. Well, there is. Obviously.” He inhaled deeply to steady himself before he antagonized another potential regular, placing the coffee grinder to the side. He really did need more routine customers. “Are you ready to order? Or do you need a moment to look at our menu?”

One corner of the taller man’s lips crooked up. “What would you recommend someone who’s never had coffee? I’ve heard all these stories about people that used to crave it like a drug. I was just a little curious what it tasted like.”

Balthazar harrumphed before responding. “I assume you’ve eaten before?”

“Yeah, a few times.”

“Well, do you remember what taste of food appealed to you more? Sweet? Salty? Bitter? Savory?”

“Uh, all of those? But what does this have to do with coffee?” He reached his hand back around his neck, again. At the discomfort he displayed, Balthazar assumed he was used to being more confident in his decisions.

“Right. You don’t eat often.” He watched the stranger for another moment—an eyebrow quirked while he completely ignored the last question—before he dropped down behind the counter and scanned the jars of coffee. He selected a blend he tended to enjoy personally. Balthazar grabbed another grinder and popped it open, measuring beans into the glassware, and started to mill them into a coarse grain. “I can start you off with a favorite of mine, and I’ll have you try it black first. If you don’t like it, I can make adjustments until it’s more palatable for you.”

The other man grinned and relaxed a little, “Sounds like a plan.”

Balthazar deposited the ground coffee into a vintage, mildly-patinated1 copper and glass siphon and filled the water reservoir.

Since the space station discouraged open flames unless contained in specific fields, his vintage model had an upgraded heating system. Electromagnetic induction was the renovation each of the three coffee siphons had received before the station would let him proudly own and operate them. Balthazar simply flipped a switch and turned back around to face his customer.

“Would you like a scone or a sandwich with your coffee?”

The stranger’s lips pulled back to reveal his teeth, mocking with mild sarcasm. “You carry foods, too?”

“I _make_ food. Small and less fancy than what they serve at those high dollar indulgence restaurants.”

The man shook his head at the mention of the only other sources of real food on the ship. “Most people can’t afford that crap, anyway. I don’t understand charging outrageous amounts of credits for something people don’t actually need these days.”

Balthazar’s face contorted into a mixture of revulsion and rage for a brief moment. He forced the muscles under his skin to relax before he was caught. Luckily, his new customer was browsing the menu items and not paying as much attention to his emotional reaction. Debating the issue of food versus supplemented water was ridiculous with a stranger.

When people mentioned food being unnecessary, it tended to unhinge him. Food was once an essential part of surviving. Initially, the nutrient-dense waters consumed were meant only for space travel. However, society as a whole rapidly adopted the new means of sustaining itself through the pragmatic, cheap, and healthy solution.

These days, everyone had their supplements measured out and dissolved in their drinking water by the computers. _‘Everything needed to survive, simply a sip and swallow away. GoNutri.'_ While the system worked profoundly—keeping everyone in the best of health and focused on their work—Balthazar felt like it was all a little… impersonal.

“Yes, well, those people consider it an art form. Edible art,” Balthazar knew he was terse with the stranger, but he couldn’t keep entirely closed lipped. He was used to being mocked for his choice of career and his interest in food and coffee, but sometimes the irritation got under his skin. ‘ _Okay, most times._ ’

Green eyes flicked up to meet his in an almost apologetic manner. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything against your food. I haven’t even tried it. I just—I could never afford that type of—er—art. It’s a luxury for the rich. One I can’t afford.”

“Right. That is… understandable.” Balthazar leaned into the counter and softly huffed out a breath, mentally letting go of an almost-argument. If someone couldn’t afford the ‘ _luxury_ ’ of eating, there was not much to say.

“I’ll…” The stranger was reviewing the menu when Balthazar glanced up. “I guess I’ll have the… Cuban sandwich?” He nodded his confirmation at the choice.

“Good choice.” The food order lifted some of the tension Balthazar had built as a wall between them—enough that he had a lazy smile on his face while he returned to his work.

While waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, Balthazar decided not to ask the questions he would a regular: Sourdough, Rye, or French bread? Cheese, or no cheese? What kind? Which vegetables? Instead, he began making his favorite version of the menu item.

The coffee siphon’s induction switch flipped off with a soft ting. Having finished the sandwich, he left it on the cutting board while he fetched the coffee. Balthazar drained the machine into a small pitcher and side-stepped in front of clutter-free counter space.

Balthazar stopped himself from pouring the steaming dark liquid into a ceramic mug and eyed his customer. “Are you dining in or taking this with you, sir?”

“Dean.”

He peeked at the stranger with an arched brow.

“My name is Dean. And I can’t imagine anyone wanting to enjoy their meal by rushing off with it. Dining in.”

He nodded with a warming smile and let the simulated gravity of the ship pull at his wrist until he had about a foot-long, steady, thin stream of coffee flowing into the cup.

Dean eyed the process in awe, “I’ve never seen anyone pour coffee like that in the old movies.”

“And you won’t, mostly,” Balthazar kept his eyes on the stream until he was finished, careful not to make a mess. “It’s something I do since the coffee is so hot. It’s my way of cooling it down, just a bit, to make it easier to drink fresh.”

“Genius.” Both of Dean’s eyebrows lifted, crinkling his forehead.

“I don’t know if it actually works or if I just like to think it does,” Balthazar gave Dean a sheepish shrug. He finished pouring the coffee and pushed the mug across the counter toward Dean. “Try it. Tell me how it tastes, and I can tweak it until it’s something you can handle. Just, sip it lightly. It is still piping.”

Dean picked the mug up from the counter gingerly and made a slurping sound as he took his first sip. He gathered it in his mouth and just let it sit there for a moment before swallowing.

“That is a rather specific taste.” Dean looked down at the coffee and back up to Balthazar. “Does coffee normally taste this way?”

“Each variation has their own take on the flavors, but they mostly all have a base flavor similar to what you are tasting. I have five different types of beans, of which can be mixed and/or roasted. You can have the coffee hot or iced, and there is a myriad of items you can add to it: milk, sugar, cream, caramel, and more. If you’d like, I could make you different coffees each time you come in until you are sure you have a favorite.” Balthazar listed a few of the options before noticing his presumptuous phrasing. “That is if you want to come back and try them.”

Dean smiled brightly after taking another sip. “I’ll have to. Now that I’ve had coffee, I understand why humans once considered it a drug. Seems plenty addicting to me.” He took another sip. “Heavenly.”

Balthazar snorted at the joke only he was privy to. He turned to focus on the Cuban sandwich still sitting on the cutting board and wrapped it in wax paper, handing it to Dean. “Speaking of, are you human?”

It wasn’t typically polite to ask someone their species immediately after meeting them, but Balthazar was never concerned with being polite.

Dean let out a light chuckle. “Half, actually.”

“Half human and half…?” He trailed off, prying a bit.

Dean shut his eyes for a moment before opening one of them back up. His entire eye was black, and Balthazar hummed in acknowledgment. “Well, that is interesting.”

The new customer blinked to clear his eyes back to their human shade of green before giving a half grin and gesturing toward Balthazar with his chin. “What about you?”

Balthazar stepped back a moment and let his body fill with the electricity of his grace. His eyes started glowing a bright white-blue. “Angel race.”

“ _That_ really is interesting.” Dean watched, finally privy to the inside joke Balthazar had previously laughed at. He snorted. “An angel and a demon walk into a bar…” Dean’s smile dropped a bit, then. “Can’t say that our kind often liked each other in the past.”

Balthazar waved in dismissal with a snort. “Human stigma. Once they joined us ‘ _in the vast sky_ ,’” he said mockingly, “they imposed their prejudice to whatever race had a name similar to those of Earth.”

“I know what you mean.” Dean nodded along.

“Not that it’s all that important. The prejudices usually get snuffed out quickly enough. You should probably eat that while it’s fresh,” Balthazar nodded toward the wrapped sandwich.

“Right,” Dean held the sandwich up and nodded his head once before turning and finding a table. Balthazar watched on for a moment, curious at what his new customer’s reaction to the meal would be. 

Dean carefully unwrapped the Cuban and inspected it. Then he sniffed it. Once Dean finally lifted it to his mouth and took a bite, a moan escaped the man.

Balthazar’s face twitched into a smirk—glad to know his food was appreciated—and touched the screen, entering the items Dean ordered. A camera popped up on the glass monitor, and he tapped where Dean was sitting. The computer chirped once, notifying him that the amount of the coffee and sandwich had been charged to Dean’s identity-chip.

 

Dean left, but not before teasing him for his choice in apron. The rest of the day was pretty routine. Some regulars came into visit as well as a few new customers. Once three o’clock came around, Balthazar shut the bistro down and wiped off the table and chairs, stacking the chairs atop the tables so the floor-bot could clean up without many obstacles whenever he left. He finished his preparations for the next morning and locked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Mildly-patinated copper. If you do not know what this is (since Osiris had an issue with researching what it was) it’s a chemical reaction that happens when copper is exposed to oxygen. For image reference, this is what [patinated copper looks like](http://cdn2.bigcommerce.com/server5400/271b7/product_images/uploaded_images/extremes-of-copper-patinas.jpg). If you jumped here in between reading, click here to return to where you were.
> 
> And to [OsirisApollo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OsirisApollo) concern—who help me polish these chapters (check out her works, too)—this fic is NOT a coffee shop fic. Likely, there will be many different POVs from many different characters. This just happens to be Balthazar's and it just so happens that he owns a bistro. 
> 
> Stay tuned! If you want to be alerted when the new chapters are posted, subscribe to the story, or to me. I'd love it if you left me a comment. I understand that's not everyone's cup of tea, but **if you enjoyed this, please leave me a kudo! ♥**


	3. Chapter 3

“So?” Gabriel was hanging off the back of the couch, knees where his ass should be. 

“So, what?” Castiel wandered through the open door to their quarters. He set his messenger bag down next to the closing panels and stretched his back. He loved his job, but a long day still made him tired like anybody else. 

The warmth on one cheek didn’t help. Though the redness and sharp sting had faded.

“So...did anything new or interesting happen today?” The corner of one of his brother’s lips twitched up in amusement. “Like that chick who slapped you? What happened? Tell me, tell me, tell me!” Gabriel’s voice was falsely high-pitched.

Castiel groaned. “I told you to stop hacking into the cameras. Those are for security in case something happens. Not for your stalking tendencies.” He entered the kitchen, slapping the back of his older brother’s head lightly as he passed. “It’s creepy.”

“But,  _ dad _ !”

Castiel glared at him as he let his wrist pass a sensor on a wall in the kitchen. A panel opened up and a glass filled with supplemented water. He grabbed it before the access panel could close back up. Before taking a sip, he asked, “What happened to the interview you had for the main floors’ security?”

He flipped around on the couch, and Castiel could hear the petulance in Gabriel’s voice. “They didn’t have any more openings. I was hoping at least to get a position in the commerce sector. Recommended I go apply for Engineering or Medical security. Those are at the bottom of the totem pole, and he knew that! The nerve on that ass.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow and squinted at his brother. “You need a job. Stop stalking me and get yourself a real job that involves leaving the couch.”

“But the couch is so comfortable. And I’m still making money.”

“Swindling gamblers is not a job, Gabriel!” 

“Yeah? Says you and who else exactly?”

“The swindled, the casino owners, and managers? Those looking to actually play and not be cheated? Security? The  _ law _ ?”

Gabriel huffed in annoyance. “Everyone’s so easily offended.”

Castiel approached the couch and plopped with a breath of exasperation. “Job, Gabriel.”

“I know. I know. I’ll look into it in the morning.”

“Better.”

“Mother hen,” Gabriel clapped his hands as he spoke under his breath, apparently not caring that Castiel could hear him. The clap dimmed the lights and resumed the moving hologram against a glass partition. It was movie night, and Gabriel had it set up for when Castiel arrived home.

  
  


The sign above the door read, ‘Hydroponics and Anthophila Lab.’ Everybody he worked with shortened it to the H&A lab. Castiel placed his hand on the panel next to the door before they whooshed open and let him into his personal heaven he called work. 

He breathed deeply and reveled in the cleanest air on the ship. Looking around, there were computers and lab equipment lined up in the center of the room. On one side, a dim light filtered through a glass wall, and the scent of flora seeped through the the ventilation panel near the top.

He was the first on shift and enjoyed the time he had all to himself. Donning his white apron, Castiel flip-flopped his way up to the glass partition.

The doors swished open and a humidity over-fell Castiel. There wasn’t going to be anyone else in for another hour, and he was alone to work in peace. 

 

Castiel surveyed the work to be done. Looking at the closest hydroponic tank systems near him, he made a mental list of the jobs he needed to try to complete in his shift: harvesting the produce, clipping dead or dying flora, and taking samples to study in the next shift.

In each tank, fish and nutrient dense plants nourished the roots. Over the reservoirs, lights were poised above the ecosystems at varying heights.

With the push of a button, Castiel watched as the conveyor system holding the tanks rotated the reservoirs until a section was at a comfortable working height. He grabbed a cart, added empty bins, and started picking off the ripened fruit from the first container. He gently separated them into sections of his cart, moving to the next tank when finished.

The room was void of noise besides the soft hum coming from the lights and the sound of water trickling through the tank filters. Castiel’s mind was free to wander.

 

He’d worked through three of the four aisles, removing the harvest from what was produced since his last shift.

Castiel’s skin prickled and he jumped. There was a hand on his shoulder and a man next to him who had, apparently, been calling his name. 

“Castiel! Hello? Earth to Castiel?” It was Cain. 

He was looking at Castiel with furrowed brows, a knowing crook on one side of his mouth. He knew Cain was aware of his tendency to zone out. 

“Y-Oh!” Castiel leveled himself, righting his equilibrium so he wouldn’t fall over from the sudden onset of panic. “Cain. I’m sorry. I was lost again.”

“You were,” He smiled. “Almost done with the harvest?”

Castiel nodded, “Yes. I’ve only one more aisle.”

“Good. I’ll go ahead and move on to the samples. Once you’re done harvesting, jump in on the second aisle. Alfie is on depot duty today.” Cain was already on the move to claim a mobile desk.

Alfie was taking the harvest from the depot to the ship’s market for dispersal and charge. All the harvest was gathered in bins. The bins were then slid down a chute and into the next room: the depot was where all the harvest was collected and sat waiting.

“Right. I haven’t had a chance to check on the dying flora, yet,” Castiel relayed.

“That’s okay. We can do that while we take samples. At noon, Alfie will be releasing the bees. I’m going to monitor the flock, if you would collect the honey.”

“Always a pleasure, but I can collect the honey while the bees are around, too.”

“I know you can. But I’d rather not unnecessarily disturb them.” Cain smiled.

Cross-pollination was not needed on the ship, but it was important for the bees keep a schedule. A delicate balance had to be maintained until the Forfax got to Trappist-Viridi and set-up for them to roam freely again.

“What of the avian room?” Castiel asked. Kelly was transferred there just the other day.

“Kelly’s got it; don’t you worry. We trained her for the position before she took it. She was in the running for a long time.”

“That’s not what I was asking.”

Cain studied Castiel’s face. “Her work does not involve the H&A lab. She has no reason to visit for work.”

“That’s also not the information I was looking for.”

Cain’s face contorted into confusion. “What, then?”

“Do bird’s not also cross-pollinate the flora?” Castiel’s brows were furrowed in confusion.

Cain laughed heartily. “Yes, Castiel. Especially the birds who eat nectar, but they have wildflowers and trees that produce fruits and nuts we don’t collect here.” 

“They are fine and well taken care of,” he added.

Castiel looked down at his feet, showing a rare sign of sheepishness. “I never really knew. I was concerned for them, though.”

“Yes, well. If you are ever to take over as the Head of BioLife, I suppose we will need to get you more familiar with the other animal areas. Not just the bees and the plants.”

Castiel nodded. He would never turn down an opportunity to learn, and the idea excited him.

 

On Gliese-Lutum, he used to work at the reptile conservation for several years. He learned how much light was needed for which species and if, when, and how long they hibernated. 

He also became fond of house geckos to rid his apartment of the nasty little roaches common in most condensed dwelling areas. He named them Josie and Häns. They ended up getting kind of chunky. The upside was his apartment block was almost cockroach free. 

They weren’t lying when the Humans from Earth said the roaches would never die… even if there was a nuclear bomb. Back then, it took some pretty powerful chemicals to get rid of them—so potent it could hurt a lot of races today, should they be in the vicinity. Most of the time, fogging of areas only helped for a short time. The little pests hid in tiny cracks and outside the units, only to come back with a vengeance. 

Josie and Hans were left for the next residents. That was their home.

 

Castiel finished harvesting the rest of the plants and pushed his cart over to a hole in the wall. Each time the cart was filled to it’s maximum, he snapped a lid on all the bins and fitted them into the slick metal chute in the wall. The bins were aligned in a room, awaiting someone to pick them up and disperse them as necessary. Once Castiel finished, he reloaded the cart with empty bins that lined the shelves on the wall next to the chute and replaced the cart where he’d removed it from the beginning of his shift.

He started towards the second aisle, noticing that Cain was about a third of the way done with the first. Taking samples was a long, tedious process. They cut small snippets off each plant and placed them on a slide. Each slide was placed in a binder already pre-labeled with the aisle, tank and plant ID. Later, Castiel and Cain would examine all the slides to check for anomalies, evolutions, or potential splice compatibility. 

Cain interrupted the silence. “Kelly slapped you.”

Castiel stilled. It wasn’t a question, but Cain was looking for an answer. Castiel didn’t reply, but the older man must have taken that as an affirmation.

“Meg told me what she saw on the cameras, last night.”

Castiel cursed to himself. He knew it was going to be brought up at some point, but he just didn’t want to hear about it and was hoping that he could fly under the radar.

Not with Meg, apparently. 

Anytime anything uncharacteristic happened at work, he felt like Meg was the one who spread the word. Even the super bland, but abnormal happenings didn’t escape her notice. Sometimes he wondered if she was stalking him, but he decided he’d be too full of himself if he actually believed that. More likely, there was nothing interesting going on, and apparently anything out of the ordinary was news to be gossiped.

Castiel was fairly certain that gossip was frowned upon, but no one seemed to mind. Apparently, the job in BioLife was boring enough to warrant running mouths. He wasn’t sure he’d let that stand if he became the Department’s Head. It bothered him that his co-workers thought they could invade others’ privacy without permission. 

 

Cain broke Castiel’s thoughts off, “Kelly really did hit you, didn’t she?”

“I’m pretty sure I deserved it.”

Already guessing at the why, Cain went straight for, “What did you say?” 

“She confessed, and I mentioned not having any idea she was interested in the first place. That seemed to upset her a little. But then she pressed me into thinking about whether we could go on a date and if I could give her a chance. When I said I’ve never been interested and will never be interested, she whacked me.”

“That’s a pretty harsh way to let a lady down.”

“I had no other idea how to get it through her head it wasn’t going to happen without going through a bunch of unnecessary words and her still understanding what I was… well,  _ not _ intending.”

“I get that.”

“Yes, and she was hindering my job by requiring my full attention. I  _ can _ work and talk at the same time. It’s just, she called me away from it in order to have that talk. I did not take kindly to being interrupted for something so...” Castiel’s body had managed to tense and start to coil in. Just talking about it stressed him out.

Cain nodded his head in understanding, but encouraging Castiel to continue.

“I can’t say I was expecting the slap—or the power behind it—but when it happened I, at least, immediately knew what I did wrong.”

“That’s a step in the right direction.”

“I’m not completely clueless, or emotionless. I just… I like my job. It might be a bit monotonous from time to time, but the pattern lets my brain roam. I can think about everything and nothing. I can produce solutions to problems by meditating and zoning out. I need quiet time. When that’s interrupted…”

“You get crabby.”

Castiel’s hands stopped, and he glared at Cain through the levels of plant reservoirs. 

“What? You wanted me to say something a little less direct?”

Castiel looked back at his hands and continued his work. “No, I guess not. I don’t know. I honestly cannot say I know much about myself at times.”

“You’re an enigma, Castiel. It’s what makes you interesting and draws people to you.”

“I’m happy with the way things are. I’d rather people leave me alone and I can just be in my bubble. The people I let in can stay. Until I tell them to leave me alone.”

Cain laughed. “You know, we all need a peaceful moment. But one day you’ll find someone you want to spend that alone time with.”

Castiel sighed and slumped into his work. He heard that so often, it irritated him. Sure, he did get lonely at times, but that’s when he cuddled with his body pillow in his sleeping pod.

 

They filled the rest of the day with random unrelated chit-chat and silence. By the time Castiel left, they’d finished sampling the live plants and pulling off the dead leaves and stems. They didn’t have time to let the bees roam the crops, so it was left to Alfie. Castiel only felt a tinge of jealousy at not being able to watch them fly and collect their honey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted! Did you see that? I'm still alive!! 
> 
> Before I posted this story, I have about four or five chapters written (all of it is pretty much world building right now) and then I changed a few professions. And now I have to go back and rewrite big chunks in some of the chapters if not scrap the whole thing and start afresh... which means rewriting and editing before posting a chapter. This does not help the chapter get posted faster, at all. So we will see if I can clunk these out faster when I'm writing from scratch, again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! And it's more than just character and world development!! We are moving on to plot development.
> 
> Thank you [NadiaHart](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NadiaHart) and [OsirisApollo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OsirisApollo) for betaing and helping me with my edits. Y'all are amazing friends and I wouldn't trade you for the world.

Dean usually looked forward to work. His days would be boring if he didn’t keep himself busy. But recently, he’d been dreading each day. 

The big-wigs in the Engineering wing had mandated little work for them to do; and because they hadn’t excavated enough materials from asteroids as of late, any extra work to advance research that needed resources was halted until further notice. 

Dean was thoroughly annoyed. 

He always finished his work with quick efficiency, mind devoid of the rest of the world. It was very relaxing. But now, he had nothing to do. 

All his mandatory projects were finished. Every one of his personal projects had been completed, except for two. Those two still needed some metals crafted into parts before they were finalized—which meant they were on hiatus. 

So, he was playing gopher for the rest of the staff that had not finished their work. When he had nothing else to do, he sat twiddling his thumbs in the office, hoping someone would call about a repair. 

When the Engineering team was low on projects, they helped out Maintenance. More accurately, Engineering took over the more technical or complex repair requests.

Dean desperately needed work. He needed to do something, at least. 

He sighed, mumbling to himself about being bored out of his mind. He was leaned back in an office chair with his feet propped up on the desk, tossing and popping the elastic of a rubber band ball. 

A call rang through the intercom. Dean was so startled from his thoughts, he felt as if he’d jumped a foot into the air and fumbled to keep himself from crashing to the floor. 

Before he answered, he spared a quick look to the room, making sure nobody had witnessed his scare. But of course, everybody else had work to do.

He pressed a button on the intercom panel. “Engineering.”

“This is Cain from H&A on the BioLife deck. I was calling for a repair to our conveyor belt.”

Dean brightened at the prospect of work. “Awesome! How big of a repair job is it?”

“I don’t know. Something is stuck. Even the overrides on the access panel aren’t helping.” Cain’s voice sounded peeved.

“Okay, BioLife deck. What lab did you say it was for?”

“H&A. Hydroponics & Anthophila Lab,” the man on the other end of the com clarified.

“Right. H&A it is.” Sure, Dean vaguely knew about Hydroponics, but he had no idea what  Anthophila meant. “I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thank you.” Cain hung up and Dean cut off his side of the line. He hopped to his feet, replaced the rubber band ball, and left for the station lift.

 

Upon arriving on the BioLife deck, Dean found he had no idea where he should go, having never been to this level before. He was lugging a small, simple toolbox as he made his way to the floor’s directory, where he studied the map until he was certain he could confidently make his way to his destination. 

When arriving at the lab, Dean pressed the intercom button. 

“H&A Lab.” The man on the other end of the com-link had a husky voice Dean did not fail notice.

“Uh, I’m with Engineering. Here to fix your conveyor belt?” Dean was scratching his head. He had no idea why a lab needed with a conveyor belt, but then again, he’d never been to the BioLife deck before.

“One moment.” 

The door slid open to reveal a bright open space that smelled fresh. Dean took in a deep breath. 

A guy with messy hair dressed in an apron and colorful, patterned eccentric clothing stood near the opening and said, “Let me show you where we are having a problem.”

“I’m Dean, by the way.” He introduced himself as he followed the other man. As they walked, Dean noticed the other man was wearing some open-toed shoe he was unfamiliar with.

“Castiel.” 

“Cas-teal?”

“Cas-tea-el,” he enunciated and then mumbled a complaint so low in volume Dean didn't quite catch it. But he did understand the underlying irritation of a stranger mispronouncing his name. 

Dean nodded, not bothering to attempt it again. When he noticed where they were headed and how much lush green was displayed in the plexiglass encased room, he stopped in his steps and gaped in awe. He had never seen anything like it before and was thoroughly overwhelmed with fascination. 

“This way, Dean.” Castiel was already through the doors and motioning for him to follow.

“This is... amazing.” He complied, though it didn’t stop him from looking around. 

He saw the conveyor systems the plants were on, but Castiel wasn’t leading him to those. Instead, he was lead to a wall on the right. Four carts towering with totes were pushed next to the waist-high lip of a single conveyor belt. It barely emerged from the wall before disappearing behind thick black plastic curtains. 

Dean was confused. “Where does this lead?”

The question seemed to ease Castiel and he didn’t appear annoyed any longer. While he explained, the previous tension melted. 

“These totes,” he gestured to the carts, “are full of produce from our hydroponic system. The produce is harvested and separated. Then, we bring them here—to the conveyer belt—and guide them through the access point in the wall,” He half-pointed, half-waved toward the area with black vinyl curtains. 

“The totes travel to the dispatch area where one of the H&A associates collect the produce and distribute it to different parts of the ship.” Castiel put his hands in the pockets of his apron.

“Dispatch?” Dean asked, gaze traveling to inspect the visible part of the conveyor system. “Do you have an empty tote?”

Castiel quickly strode to the other side of the room and returned with an empty plastic gray crate. “Here.”

“Okay,” Dean placed it on the belt and tested the metal rollers. The system seemed to be manual until a tote reached the thick, black vinyl covering the rest of the rollers—just passed the curtains. The mechanism seemed to be working properly from his end until the empty tote hit something. “What is that?”

“We were sending totes down and only discovered the problem when there was some sort of blockage… None of other bins that had previously been pushed down arrived in the dispatch room. Alfie was there a while ago, and when I paged him, he said he didn’t see any more make it out on his end. So, they must be stuck between the walls of this room and dispatch.”

“How long of a space?”

“Well, above here,” Castiel pointed above the chute, “is the Anthophila room. And this side of the chute,” he gestured to the left, “is honey collection. To the right is system machinery.”

“Is there an easy way to get to the space between?”

“Easy? Not unless you’re collecting honey. But then you have to deal with the bees.”

“Right.” It was never easy. “Wait... you said honey and... Athophilie?”

“Anthophila—means bees.”

“Okay. Okay, that makes sense.” Although it didn’t really; except, Dean now knew how there was honey aboard the ship. “But why are there bees on the ship?”

Castiel’s face scrunched, his eyes squinting. “We need bee colonies on an uninhabited world to help spread and pollinate our crops. We are traveling with them and keeping their routine so that they do not devolve to a different, less useful function. Not just humans, but animals, in general, would all perish without the help of the anthophila. Their role is vital to the life of plants. In turn, plants are vital to the life of animals, including ourselves. It’s one of the beginning stages to the circle of life.”

“Okay, but is that not what you are doing here?” Dean motioned to the vertical machines acting as trees, of sorts. He felt he wasn’t quite grasping all the important bits, but enough to continue the conversation. He liked learning new things, and this Castiel guy had a low voice that had a soothing effect on him.

Castiel sighed and his shoulders sagged a bit. He eyed Dean and added a finality to his voice, “On a large enough scale—such as farming—we are not going to hand care for each and every crop individually. We have a small manageable portion here, with a select group of highly trained individuals who know exactly what they are doing. Once we get to Trappist-Viridi, we will need to increase the size of production to keep up with our population expansion.”

“But we don’t need food to live, right?”

The moment the question left his lips Dean knew he stumbled into some sort of minefield. The other man already seemed on edge with the number of questions he’d been asking, but he definitely felt he hit a nerve.

Castiel’s voice was tight, low, and rushed. “Where do you think the nutrients of your beloved supplement water comes from? Thin air? No, we produce plants here—most of which are needed for your precious ‘magic water.’ And once we get to Trappist-Viridi, we are going to need food, regardless. While we readjust to different gravity and living conditions we will need as many benefits from the nutrients found in real food as we can receive. And maybe then everyone will finally see what real water tastes like, without supplements. It’s much different than you might think.”

His face was red and his breath came in short little huffs. Dean felt like a bit of an ass, but the image was strangely sexy. It reminded him vaguely of one of his favorite shows, Dr. Sexy. He shrugged the thought away.

Castiel ran a hand through his hair, further disheveling it. 

Dean took in a deep breath of the fresh air to clear his mind. “So, can you show me how to get to the space between the rooms?”

Castiel straightened his posture and walked away without a word, apparently done talking to him. 

Dean just followed.

Castiel led him out of the beautiful greenhouse and around the back. There was a tiny panel in the wall and it looked to be on a weighted hinge. That meant no tools would be necessary to access it and it would close under its own weight when no longer held ajar. 

Castiel pointed to the door near the floor with an open palm. “This is the access hatch to the system’s machinery. You might be able to access the belt from here.”

Dean stooped down, hefted the door, and shimmied his way into the space. The opening was tight and he was unsure if his shoulders would fit, at first. 

Once inside, he noticed how the quiet was only broken by the slight hum and clicks of the operating system that controlled all of the H&A lab’s electrical equipment. 

The small crawl space was dark and toasty. He made a half-crawl, half-squat maneuver all the way to conveyor system and scanned it with his flashlight. Nothing looked out of place at first glance, so he began a more in-depth examination of the metal roller guides beneath the vinyl belt of the conveyor. He turned each roller individually—the vinyl stopped short enough so Dean didn’t need any tools to check their state—to ensure they were all gliding smoothly.

When it became apparent that everything was in good, physical working order, Dean looked around to locate a switch or breaker that could have been tripped. He found nothing on his side but did notice a certain indiscernible odor.

He wondered if it was coming from the totes and stretched his legs and back a bit to sniff at the contents of the plastic boxes, but it wasn’t emanating from them. In fact, it seemed the fruits and vegetables were giving off a scent that was great enough to mask the stink. 

In effort to find the source, Dean removed two of the totes and set them on the ground beside him. He peered over the belt with his flashlight and immediately started to gag.

The stench was putrid, and Dean’s hand rushed to cup over his nose and mouth. The action didn’t stop his stomach from roiling, and the image in front of him was just making bile rise in his throat rapidly.

He jerked his face away from the scene before him and rushed back toward the exit as quickly as the tiny compartment would allow, not even remembering to grab his toolbox along the way.

Castiel had a shocked look on his face when he spun around and saw Dean scrambling out of the access port, the sound of the panel door bouncing harshly on its metal frame. Concern etched in his features. He must have realized something had gone amiss. “What’s wrong?”

Dean tried to hold back the vomit rising in his throat, but he gagged once more. He was on his knees with one hand supporting his weight while the other was made into a fist against his mouth.

Castiel crouched down near him, rubbed at his back, and asked again, “Are you okay? What happened?”

Dean closed his eyes, willing the image to disappear long enough to catch his breath and speak. “There… there was a dead body.”

Another retch heaved his body forward. The oddly dressed scientist left for a moment and rushed back with an empty tote meant for produce. Dean gave him an odd look.

“Don’t worry about the bin. We will clean it out thoroughly before we reuse it, or burn it. Just… don’t make us clean up the floor. Keep it contained.”

Dean was planning on replying to the cold attitude he received with a snarky comeback, but that was before his body gave up on him and he was spilling his guts into a grey plastic crate. It just didn’t seem important after that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished. Next week are my final exams, and I rewrote this three times. The first time, as mentioned before, everyone's jobs were very different. It also made the entire chapter unusable. So I had to start from scratch and then got ENTIRELY ahead of myself and a little out of character (thank you for saving me from that, [NadiaHart](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NadiaHart)!). So after saving a piece of that for a future section of the story, I rewrote it for the third time. And I guess that means the third time's the charm for this one. I hope you enjoy! Also, cliffhanger. 
> 
> ~~Now that class will be out for a while, I hope to get a lot more written out, and maybe have some written for times when I don't have the time to write (like how I began this story, but then reworked the first few parts and started posting without fixing the rest).~~ **edit:** I'm taking part in a DCMB, so a lot of writing will be done on it. I'm going to try and get the next chapter written in between writing for that. I have some time off between semesters and hope that I can juggle both.
> 
> So, **please leave kudos or comments if you liked this story so far.** I appreciate knowing if people enjoy my work. If you'd like to stay up to date with any new chapters, please **subscribe** to either this fic, or to me.


	5. Chapter 5

Lights began flashing red. A constant push and pull of reality was taking over. 

Confusion had Gabriel’s head in a vice grip. Everything was normal two seconds ago, and all of a sudden his trainer was tripping over non-existent things trying to rush at the security screens.

Gabriel inspected them over Henriksen’s shoulder, anxiety gripping him. Nothing seemed out of place upon first glance, but the lights never ceased and that made him feel uneasy.

“W-what’s wrong?” Gabriel’s voice cracked.

“I don’t know. Something serious happened. I have to contact Central Security to get the details.” Henriksen’s fingers flew across the control panel, typing rapidly. 

The Central Security cameras took over the entire screen.

“Henriksen reporting, sir.”

“Is everyone tuned in, Lieutenant?” The Captain filled the entire picture and looked off-screen.

“Yes, Captain,” said a voice. 

The Captain stood straight and placed his hands behind his back, readdressing the cameras. “Usually, I do not address all of security at once. However, there has been a massive breach—unlike any we’ve had on this ship since the start of our expedition. There’s been a murder.”

Gasps from all the other security officers throughout the rest of the ship were heard from the speakers. Gabriel was in shock, himself, but made no sound.

The Captain continued, “We thought our security was top notch, but—like any operation—there are blind spots. I ask for everyone to stay on alert. Keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious. We will all have a part to play in finding out what has happened. That is all.” 

Gabriel was stunned, and silence took hold of him. As the Captain had said, no one had ever been murdered on the ship. The only deaths that had happened were of natural causes. 

The screen was displaying a timer, counting down until it was Henriksen’s turn to be briefed with his and his crew member’s jobs on catching the criminal. 

While it might be a bad day for the Forfax, Captain, and the deceased’s family, Gabriel felt an excitement rise within him. Finally, something interesting was happening on the ship. 

The screen blipped back on, and an older man was looking at some sort of clipboard log before addressing the camera.

“Head of Security, Bobby Singer,” he introduced. “Henriksen and crew?”

“Yes, sir.” Henriksen was quick with his answer.

“Medical security, huh?” The guy was wearing an old ball cap and was consulting his ancient, no-tech files. “Your job is a bit more intricate than the others.”

Gabriel perked up at the sound of importance.

“How so, sir?” Henriksen questioned.

“I need a man outside the Morgue at all hours until we have this solved. After we receive the results of the autopsy, we will need to question everyone on your floor. That falls under your jurisdiction.” 

Questioning possible suspects? Gabriel was so in on this. He couldn’t wait to get back to his pod and brag to his brother.

Bobby looked sternly at the camera, pausing to relay the importance of his next message. “Look, off the record: we have reason to believe that this murder was very well planned. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. They know how anatomy works. 

“I’m not going to lie to you. There’s a chance our killer works somewhere on the Medical or Science floor. I need everyone to be on high alert. If anything funny happens, I need to know. You got me?”

“Yes, sir,” Henriksen replied and Gabriel nodded, more to himself than either of his bosses.

His bosses began talking about procedural actions, and what they should do in this or that event. Gabriel tuned out. His mind raced with all the potential futures. 

If he manned the morgue and someone tried to steal the body, there could be an awesome showdown. He could show off all the stupid fighting moves his brother had forced him into learning since they were young. Castiel was always using the excuse they needed to exercise more, and imitating old fight scenes was a great way to accomplish it enjoyably. 

There might even be an interrogation, and he could be put in the bad cop position. Wouldn’t that be exciting? Or, better yet, he’d be placed on camera duty when the perp is seen sneaking down the halls being extra suspicious. He could call it in, and when nobody answered he could leave his post to nail the murderer trying to erase any evidence.

The options were endless. Gabriel’s head was swarming with jittery anticipation.

“Mr. Novak!” Henriksen’s eyebrows pushed together, accenting a deep frown.

Gabriel snapped to attention. “Sir!” 

Henriksen did  _ not _ seem to be impressed. “First, I’ll need you to pay attention.”

Gabriel nodded. He understood that in order to catch anybody, he actually needed to be in the present. That made sense, after all.

“I need to reschedule the entire team to follow through with orders. Since it’s just the two of us this shift, I’ll have you stationed at the Morgue until you are off the clock.” Henriksen turned to his control panel, hands flying along the keys. “I’m sending over a list of approved Employees allowed access. Everyone else is strictly forbidden from entering the Morgue unless you approve them through me. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Exhilaration thrummed through his entire being.

Henriksen stared at him. “You are to be aware of everything going on around you at all times. If people are gossiping in the hallway, I want to know. If someone is sitting outside, talking on their personal coms, I want to know. If the people entering the Morgue look shifty, I want to know. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Dismissed to your station.” Henriksen waved him off.

Gabriel turned heel and marched off.

Outside the door he was guarding, the hallway was free of anything interesting. The most entertaining thing to view was a single thin strip of light halfway up the wall that spread from one end of the corridor to the other.

Gabriel cleared his throat and tried to stand tall for a few minutes. His brain was clouding with delusions of action, but his body was being subjected to boredom. He fidgeted. 

This was supposed to be awesome and exciting. Instead, it was sucking his life force from his body at an agonizing pace.

Gabriel huffed.

The panel doors wooshed open from behind him, and Gabriel jumped a foot in surprise. He might have been a little on edge with a killer on the loose, but adrenaline changed into excitement. He was relieved to see another person.

It was a tall woman with long hair and a piercingly attractive face. “Well, hello there,” Gabriel spoke first.

The woman furrowed her brow and tilted her head slightly in questioning. “Who are you? What are you doing loitering outside the Morgue?”

Gabriel smirked and extended a hand. “Names Gabriel. Gabriel Novak. I'm your newest security officer, and I'll be guarding your sacred entrance my entire shift.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

She scoffed at him aloud.  _ Scoffed.  _

“Bella. Main mortician.” She didn't take his hand, much less look at it. 

_ Main mortician?  _ What did that even mean? 

“I'm taking my mid-day break. Don't let anyone in. It's just me today.”

Gabriel cocked his head to the side. He couldn’t place it, but he was sure something was off about Bella herself, or that interaction. She had seemed too fidgety and to the point. And there was no way that it was  _ Gabriel’s _ fault that she was terse.

He nodded anyway, but his features schooled in concentration. “Yes, ma'am.”

He was told to report anything and everything. Gabriel figured overt skepticism was warranted for this job. That’s how detectives always found their bad guys in the movies, after all.

Thinking it through, wasn’t there a few people who had access to the Morgue? And if this was as big a deal as the Captain seemed to think it was, shouldn’t the Captain have issued an all-hands-on-deck order? 

This just didn’t sit right with him.

 

As soon as she was out of sight, Gabriel started a thirty-second count. Not knowing what species someone was could really backlash on you if they had skills you didn't know about. There was nothing he could do if they could read his mind, but at least he could wait until he knew they couldn't hear his mouth.

Gabriel set his thumb against the watch-like band on his wrist. It identified him as a valid user and connected him to Henriksen.

“Hey, Bossman. You mentioned something about only authorized personnel being allowed, correct?”

“Yes. Did you read the file I sent you?”

“Damnit. I forgot about that. Okay, hold on.” Gabriel kept Henriksen on the line and tapped a few times on his wrist-com. 

A small hologram hovered above his palm and Gabriel scrolled through the images. Bella was indeed on there, but so were nine other people.

“Okay. So get this, boss man. Bella is on the list of people, but when she came out she ordered me to let no one else in. Don't you think that's a little funny? Shouldn't there be more people working on this case?”

Henriksen hummed on the other side of the line. “Let me shoot this up the chain of command. For now, follow that order. I'll confirm its validity.”

“Roger. Over and out.” Gabriel's face was split wide with a shit-eating grin. He'd always wanted to say that.

Henriksen grunted and the line went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, people, was Gabriel's POV. I hope you've been enjoying this so far. I've actually got the next part already written. It's much shorter, though, so I might post it between the normal monthly update. I've got a great support system over at the ProfoundBond discord. And I've made some amazing friends there. Again, I'd like to thank [Osiris Apollo](http://archiveofourown.com/users/OsirisApollo) and [NadiaHart](http://archiveofourown.com/users/NadiaHart) for reading through this chapter and helping me get it ready for you all.
> 
> And just so you know: I have a vague outline for this story, but I don't even know where some of it is going. So your guess is about as good as mine. My only hope is that you are surprised by a few curveballs I _do_ intend to throw in the story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... no more promises of updates. When I don't promise anything, there seems to be a somewhat schedule. When I do promise, shit hits the fan in the real world, and I have to deal with everything first. That said, I do not intend to _ever_ abandon this fic. This fic is my baby, and even if updates are only once a year (if they are that spread out, hit up [OsirisApollo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OsirisApollo) and ask her to hit me in the head) I refuse to give it up until completion. This part was originally too short to post as one chapter, so I ended up combining them into one with a break in the middle. Without further ado, a much-belated chapter update:

“Bella isn’t the Department Head. So why is she telling Gabriel that she is?” Victor asked Bobby over the video-com. “She mentioned no one was allowed in the room, but we were under the assumption that the Captain would want this matter solved as fast as possible. Wouldn’t that mean multiple people working on this assignment at a time? And possibly around the clock?” 

Victor could hear the sounds of paper shuffling. Bobby’s brows scrunched together while he evidently searched through items on his desk. 

“Ah, here. Okay,” Bobby’s eyes scanned something off camera. “She certainly is not the Department Head, but she is the lead on this case. We also have authorized overtime until this is solved...”

Bobby readdressed the camera. “She’s correct in taking lead, but not utilizing her resources will hurt her in the end. I’ll take this up with her direct superior and the Captain. They will make the final decision on how to proceed.”

“Very well. Until then, what order shall we follow?”

“Hold anyone from going into the Morgue, but log their ID and time stamp. As soon as we have more information I’ll contact you.”

“Yes, sir.” Victor broke the connection and pulled up the channel to connect with Gabriel’s wrist-com. 

He filled the new-hire in on the updated protocol and severed the connection. 

Casually, he flipped through the video feeds. In one, Gabriel rocked back and forth on his heels—obviously very bored.  _ And he isn’t alone in that sentiment,  _ Victor thought. 

Nothing was happening, and his gut told him there was more to the story right under his nose. He decided to do some investigation as his intuition pleaded for some sort of action. 

Out of desperation to do something— _ anything _ —Victor rotated his forefinger and thumb on the control panel and the videos started to move in reverse.

He singled out the video feed staring Bella and Gabriel’s recent exchange and stopped it. Starting the playback going forward in time, he watched closely as Bella exited the Morgue and interacted with Gabriel. The slight suspicion on Gabriel’s face was fleeting, but Victor mentally noted it before it disappeared. Bella’s expression was trained. He gleaned nothing from studying the way her mouth moved or how her eyebrows reacted to words traded among the two. 

When Bella turned from his subordinate and stalked away, Victor decided to follow her path. He changed the layout of the cameras to increase in size and focus in on the images involving movement. There was nothing out of the ordinary. 

That was until two feeds, in the sections he hadn’t previously focused on came into view. Bella was walking toward the elevator shaft in one. However, it was the second image that made him pause. 

Alarmed, Victor stopped the playback, rewound it, and played it through at half the speed. His fingers plucked at the control panel and the image magnified. 

Someone had opened a metal panel and emerged from behind it. And the location disturbed Victor even more. The new camera angle was facing the backside of the Morgue—a place he’d never have thought to look.

_ What the hell is going on? _

Victor felt his core fill with anxiety. What exactly was happening on his floor? Something was horribly wrong, and he felt an awful wrench in his gut. Victor had never felt like a conspiracy theorist before, but right now he was treading that territory. And it  _ felt _ right. Perhaps that was the more haunting bit.   
  


* * *

 

 

An incoming call sounded, and Bobby sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Henriksen. We have no word, as of yet, on follow-thru procedure.” 

Victor didn’t answer. Bobby was about to cut the call, but he hesitated when he realized something wasn’t quite right.

“Victor? Are you okay?”

Victor's face blanched. “Sir, there is something you need to see.”

Bobby’s brows narrowed, and his jaw twitched at the seriousness in the man’s voice. “Show me, son.”

The call suspended, a video clip uploaded on his screen. He hit the play button immediately. Brows rose and furrowed together when Bobby watched what looked like something escaping the ship’s interior. 

“Ash! Can you magnify this image and make it clearer?” He pushed away from his console to let his assistant access.

“I’ll try, boss.” The mullet sporting kid’s fingers flew over the keyboard as he worked at a ridiculous pace. Not even half-a-minute passed before he finished. 

“This is the best I could do.” Ash tapped a few times on the control panel and brought up a newer version of the image. It was magnified and sharper, but not perfect. 

Bobby rolled his way back in front of his console and hit play.

The slinky dark image from before was a shadow with four limbs and a head. Whoever they were, they’d dressed in not black but a dark gray—perhaps to closer match the interior of the ship’s floor and wall paneling? Their face was shrouded by what looked like a mask, obscuring any discernible features. 

Frustrated, Bobby smacked his clipboard down on the desk portion of the control panel. He rose and snapped the cap from his head, scratching his scalp. “What the hell?” 

Turning back to Ash, he questioned more to himself than anyone in the room, “What in the tarnation is going on?”

Ash shrugged. “I’m thinkin’... before we make any attempts at figuring anything else out, Capt’n needs to send someone less suspicious down to check out the dead body? Maybe—since this is the morgue we’re talkin’ about—that body wasn’t so dead after all?”

Bobby let the thought stir within him for a moment before nodding slowly. “We should send the clip up the chain. They are not going to be happy that we have no more leads. But this Bella kid, she might be in one hell of a lot a trouble.”

 

After a long chat with the Lieutenant and getting their new orders from the Captain, Bobby sighed and slumped in his chair. He’d been sitting in front of the screen for almost an hour while listening and watching the bridge hustle with activity based on Victor’s recent find.

Speaking of, he needed to relay his message to Victor and Krushnic. More importantly, he needed to make sure that the new Morgue inspector, Masters, had the access she needed.

Bobby hailed Ensign Gabriel Krushnic through the control panel to the kid’s wrist-com. 

“Gabriel, speaking.”

“Krushnic, this is Bobby Singer, of Head Security. I’m not sure if Henriksen warned you of footage he found previously, but we’ve had a change of order in effect immediately. Bella Talbot is immediately revoked access until further notice. Meanwhile, only three people will have access, ya hear? I sent their IDs to your wrist-com. They are Meg Masters, Mortimer Dauda, and Sam Winchester. No one else is cleared for access, understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Krushnic’s voice carried with it the sound of a salute and Bobby nodded curtly.

“Okay. Resume at your post.” Bobby cut the line and started a new video call to the Security room on the Medical floor. “Henriksen, I’ve already spoken with Krushnic about the change.”

Bobby and Victor discussed contingency plans in the event of various circumstances.

“I’d also like for you to create a video to play for each person who clocks in before the shifts change over. I need everyone up to speed on our situation. In the event anything changes, they should have a video with updates to add. I do not want anyone to change posts until the replacements have watched and caught up entirely. Any questions should be addressed on the spot. I hope you understand how important this is.”

Victor nodded. “Of course, sir. I’ll make certain these changes go into effect immediately.”

“Good,” Bobby nodded. “Meanwhile, Masters is on her way. She’s going to check on the corpse and make sure that the shady escapee and the corpse are not one in the same. Should they be or not, she’ll check the room and files for anything that could be missing. Since that room, that floor, always has a tight security hold on it, there could be some valuable information. Whoever this idjit is, we are working on how to catch them.”

They went through the formalities of signing off, and Bobby slumped back in his chair. His shift was almost over, and soon he’d be transferring his shift’s events to his old friend and coworker, Rufus.

He couldn’t wait to clock out and head to the bar. He really needed a cold one tonight. He might even take a case back to his pod if he could haggle the barkeep’s price low enough. It had been one hell of a day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know there are a lot of name changes in this chapter (because I had a lot of tweaking I needed to do). It might be confusing for some, but the jest is Victor and Bobby are pals, so Bobby thinks of him as Victor. But in some settings, he has to come across as more formal because he is above Victor in the chain-of-command. Obviously, Victor works with Gabe and doesn't use his last name whereas Gabe has just been hired and Bobby doesn't know him. I hope that helps clear and air should you have had issues with those names flipping back and forth.
> 
> I have not read this back since finishing the editing today. I should, but I'm so tired of looking at it. Either tomorrow or the next day I will reread it and remove this here. Until then, this is a disclaimer.


End file.
